


No Matter How You Try, You Can’t Burn Me

by laudatenium



Series: I'm Burnin' (For You) [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wildfire, Anal Sex, Insecure Tony, M/M, Media Rumors, Protective Steve, Protective Tony, The Media is rude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 01:37:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3231356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laudatenium/pseuds/laudatenium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Because responding only gives the story legitimacy.”</p><p>Deep down, Tony knew that, but he doesn’t want to think rationally right now.  He wants to destroy anyone and anything that says anything terrible about Steve.</p><p>Because Steve would never cheat on him.</p><p>But that didn’t mean he couldn’t leave him for someone better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Matter How You Try, You Can’t Burn Me

**Author's Note:**

> Title from “Fireproof” by Pillar.
> 
> Wow, it's been a while since I updated this. But I haven't forgotten my lovely firefighters!
> 
> This is just another intermittent fluff piece, but I promise some more involved plot later.

It was there, clear as day and night.

 

A picture of Steve embracing a leanly muscled man, with long dark hair and a devil-may-care attitude.  Embracing close, as people who loved each other very much would.  Standing in front of one of the best restaurants in LA, where celebrity couples often went for “low-key” dates.

 

It didn’t matter that Tony _knew_ it was just Bucky.  It didn’t matter that Tony _knew_ Bucky had just gotten out of an appointment with one of the best prosthetic surgeons around, who was very interested by the recent offer from Stark Industries to be the surgeon to implant Tony Stark’s newest endeavor: a metal-and-carbon fiber forearm that mimicked actual muscle movements and would seamlessly integrated itself within the nervous system, making it the most advanced bio-hybrid limb yet.  It didn’t matter that Tony _knew_ that he had been in the office to explain things to Dr. Milhaven, and Steve had come for moral support, because hey, Tony had designed the arm because Bucky was Steve’s oldest friend, who was quickly becoming one of Tony’s closest friends.  It didn’t matter that Tony _knew_ that he had to head to a meeting right after the consultation, and couldn’t go to lunch with them afterwards.  It didn’t matter that Tony _knew_ that Steve was a very tactile man, and when greeting or saying goodbye to people, he hugged.

 

The media didn’t know that.

 

 _“Tony,”_ Pepper’s voice wafted over the speakers, making it sound like she was sitting next to him.  _“You know how the media works.  No one’s taking this seriously.”_

 

Sometimes, he really missed her.  As happy as he was Steve, as perfect as everything had been up until a few hours ago, he missed her being what she once had been.  They weren’t ever going to be successful in the long term (which was a very real possibility with Steve), and Tony was glad they had ended it before they had permanently damaged things between them.  But the reason they were both wonderful and destructive together was that they knew each other so well.  They could anticipate one another’s thoughts, views, and choices of action.  They could operate like to wound cogs, each doing their respective job, and moving towards their end goal.

 

Tony and Pepper went together like sodium and chlorine.  Both individually explosive, but when combined benign.  You could overlook the way they stifled one another because of how good it had tasted for only so long.

 

They were better as friends.  Tony had Steve, and Pepper didn’t have to put up with him 24/7.  He was happy, and she could be happy because she didn’t have to worry over him.

 

That didn’t mean he couldn’t occasionally miss her.

 

“I could handle this if they were talking about _me_ , Pep.  But this is _Steve_ they’re saying this shit about.  Like he would _ever_ . . . .  He and Bucky are basically brothers.  They’re implying incest.”

 

Pepper gave one of her trademark sighs.  _“We know, Tony.  But I’m not putting an official response out there.”_

 

“It’s my company!  Why the hell not?”

 

_“Because responding only gives the story legitimacy.”_

 

Deep down, Tony knew that, but he doesn’t want to think rationally right now.  He wants to destroy anyone and anything that says anything terrible about Steve.

 

Because Steve would never cheat on him.

 

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t leave him for someone better.

 

“But cracking down now will stop them from doing it in the future.”

 

Pepper sighed.  She’d been sighing a lot over the past half-hour.  _“Do you want legal to draw up a suit for defamation?”_

 

“Now, sweetheart, we’re getting somewhere.  Get them on it right away.”

 

_“No, Tony.  We’ll talk to them first thing in the morning.”_

 

“We can’t be waiting around!  Do you _know_ how much spin they can do in twelve hours?”

 

 _“Yes, Tony.  I’m very aware.  But we’re not going to legal with your personal life_ again _.  At least, not until you’ve discussed this with Steve.”_

 

“He’s not home.”  Steve had driven Bucky back to Camp Nelson after they had gotten lunch.  The roundtrip drive from Malibu to the tiny town in the forest Steve and his crew members lived in was about eight hours, and Steve had said he might hang out with them for a little while and get some paperwork he needed to go over.  The satellite tracking on Steve’s phone said he’d be home any minute.

 

_“Well, when he gets home, talk to him.  Ask him if he wants you to make a big spectacle.”_

 

He wouldn’t, that was the problem.  Tony’s boyfriend was a coinsurer of the simpler things in life.  He loved being outdoors, preferred street pizza over Tony flying Italian in, spent his Sundays burrowed into the covers and then painted for a while, read a book, watched SNL.  Normal things.  Steve wouldn’t want Tony spending untold amounts of cash on a _car_ , much less a lawsuit.

 

But all Tony wanted was to have the problem _solved_.  To explain to Steve over drinks that something bad had happened, but he’d handled it.

 

He was so fucking tired of being an invalid.  He wanted to _do_ something.

 

JARVIS and his wonderful timing.  _“Sir, Captain Rogers has entered the security gate.”_

_“That’s my cue to hang up, Tony.  Talk to him.”_   She hung up.

 

“What is it with my friends hanging up on me?” he pondered to no one.

 

The front door opened, and Tony herd the jingle of Steve’s car keys as the chucked them into the waiting bowl, followed by the rustle of him putting his jacket in the closet, and a few whistled bars of Count Basie.  Tony made sure to black out the screens screaming the headlines before Steve entered the living room.  He held a filing box filled with stained manila folders under one arm, which he kicked to the side.

 

The look of absolute trust and adoration Steve gave him threatened to split Tony’s heart into a million tiny pieces.

 

“Nat and the guys say ‘Hi’. Clint has requested courtside Lakers’ tickets – _do not_ give him any – and Buck wants to thank you again for this new arm thing,” Steve rattled off, leaning over the back of the couch and kissing the top of Tony’s hair.  He wrapped his arms around him and balanced his chin on Tony’s shoulder.  “You alright?  You seem tense.”

 

Tony turned and looked into Steve’s eyes – simultaneously blue like summer skies and glacial ice – loving and trusting and Tony couldn't do this.  He couldn’t corrupt him or ruin him.  He choked out a sob.

 

“Tony?  What _happened?_ ” Steve said frantically, trying to pull him closer to his broad chest.  Tony pushed him away.  He pulled up the gossip websites, blaring “Tony Stark ‘Tamed’ by Cheater?”, “Stark’s Fireman Beau: Has He Found Someone Better?”, “Stark in an Open Relationship?  Not the Craziest Thing He’s Ever Done.”

 

“Just, look at the reports,” Tony choked out.  He sped towards the bedroom.  “I’m _so_ sorry.”

 

He listened as Steve gently clicked through the “news” sites for a moment before he closed the door with a snap, and went to cry his eyes into Steve’s pillow.

 

This, he reflected as he traced a finger along the chain of the St. Florian medallion, is why Tony Stark couldn’t have nice things.

 

 

 

“I don’t care what they say.”

 

Steve had opened the door, but Tony didn’t want to look at him.  He instead spoke into the depths of the pillow.

 

“Steve, they’re not just saying it about me, they’re saying this shit about _you._   I could maybe handle it if they said I was having an affair, but they’re making you out to be the cheater, and I won’t stand for it.”

 

“Tony, listen to me.”  Steve’s voice was soft, but firm and filled with conviction.  “I don’t _care_.  They’re just doing this to sell papers.  And if it takes dealing with them spreading untrue rumors about us, well, I can handle dealing with that if it’s what I have to go through to be with you.  I’d give anything to be with you.”

 

Tony looked up, nose snotty and plugged, eyes scratchy and red.  “Why?”

 

Steve _growled_ , legitimately _growled_.  “Who did this to you?  What did they do to make it so you don’t believe _anyone_ who cares for you _wants_ to?”  He crossed the room to grip Tony’s shoulders.  “Who did this to you?”

 

Tony didn’t meet his eyes, and Steve’s nostrils dilated.

 

“Tony.  Tell me.”

 

“I’M RUINING YOU!  I’m – I’m no _good_ , Steve!  I’m a terrible person!  I sleep around and create weapons that kill civilians –“

 

“Not anymore.”

 

“ – and I’m pulling you down with me.  Why do you even stay?”

 

Steve paused for a long moment.

 

“One of these days, I am going to _prove_ to you that you are cherished, ya hear?” the tinge of Brooklyn in his voice becoming a flood.

 

“Okay,” Tony whispered, still not believing, and Steve moved to kiss his tears away.  Sharp pecks along his cheeks and eyelashes, warm lips finally landing on his own. 

 

The kiss tasted of salt.  Love and devotion and _Steve._   Determination and promise and stubbornness.  Steve knew every atom of Tony’s mouth, but set about re-familiarizing himself with it.  It was heat and suction and the barest scrape of teeth on his tongue, something so many people were scared to try, but Steve was a foolhardy idiot, and curled Tony’s toes.  Tony had his arms cadging Steve’s chest, and Steve’s left hand gripped his face, and his right gripped his hip.

 

So intent was Tony on kissing Steve he barely noticed being stripped, and Steve stripping himself.  Before he knew it, Tony was lying on his back, cock rubbing up the cleft of Steve’s ass.

 

“Steve – _Steve_ – what’re you –“

 

“Shh,” Steve murmured into Tony’s lips, moving a practiced hand to where the lube was located.

 

The snick of the cap withdrew Tony from is revelry for a moment.  Steve poured a moderate amount of the lube into Tony’s belly button, running a slick hand over Tony’s aching cock.  Then Steve moved a pair of slick fingers behind himself and hissed.

 

_“Steve.”_

 

“I got you, Tony,” Steve grunted, not breaking Tony’s gaze.  “I got you.”  He began to kiss anything he could reach, Tony’s lips, chin, beard, cheeks, ear, eyelid.

 

Steve ran a possessive, reverent hand over the raised keliods.  “I am _going_ –“ Steve breathed through tiny kisses to Tony’s chest “- to _find_ – who did _this_ – to you.  And _I_ – am _going_ – to _kill_ – them.”

 

“Why?” Tony sobbed.

 

“Because I love you.”  And with that, Steve sank down onto Tony’s cock.

 

Tony couldn’t _breathe_ Steve was so tight.  Whenever Steve fucked him (which, to be honest was most of the time, if only because Tony preferred it that way) he was religious in taking his time, opening and stretching and scissoring.  Even when Tony _begged_ , Steve wouldn’t budge until he was sufficiently open.  Sometimes Tony wanted the sting, but Steve was huge, and fucked him hard, so Tony was always comfortably sore afterwards.

 

But when _Steve_ insisted on bottoming, he rarely plunged in two fingers before he had Tony pinned to the bed, rising up and down on Tony’s cock.  Savoring and throwing his head back, alternating between moving languidly and making sure Tony hit his prostate, and ramming himself down so fast Tony felt the bed would break.

 

Today it was the former, and Tony couldn’t make himself do _anything_.  He just lay there, pinned by Steve’s arms and legs and eyes, watching as Steve fucked himself on Tony’s cock.

 

They were in each other’s skin.  And it burned.

 

“ _This_ ,” Steve growled, from where he had caught the medallion in his teeth, “ _this_ is how much I love you.  _This_ tells the world you belong to _me_.  _This_ ,” Steve bit the cord of Tony’s neck harshly, “is me.  You are mine.  And I am yours.”

 

 _“Yes,”_ Tony choked out.

 

Theirs wasn’t a love story to be painted in oils and hung in a nice museum.  Theirs was an urban legend, whispered in blood and ashes, and remembered.

 

“ _Forever_ ,” Steve hissed.

 

They burned, bright, too bright.  Like phosphorus sesquisulfide and potassium chlorate.  A little friction, and they were set ablaze.

 

They were phosphorus matches.  And knew exactly the angle to strike.

 

Steve rolled his hips down one last time, insuring Tony’s cock pressed firmly along his prostate, pulling him deep, _deep_ , clenching around him and _howling_.

 

Tony allowed himself a moment to stare: Steve, golden pale skin glistening, back arched and head thrown back, lips a perfect “O” as he caught on the vowel of Tony’s name, hot white cum painting their abdomens.

 

Then he let himself go.

 

Everything was always so explosive with Steve.  Where an orgasm with someone else would be nice, relieve stress and tension, and be a worthwhile experience, with Steve it was so much more.  Tony felt himself implode, all the wonderful things condensed into the two of them, writhing on the bed, the heat under which they had met never failing to flare up and set them ablaze again.

 

And unlike anyone else, afterwards, Tony could lay sated in Steve’s arms, the well-toned muscle surrounding him, making him feel safe.  And loved.

 

“Love you,” Tony felt his lips tumble over.

 

“Love you, too,” Steve answered, sounding like he had just raced the 800 meter against Usian Bolt.

 

When some semblance of muscle control returned to him, Tony moved over to the bedside table and grabbed the wet wipes.

 

He traced slowly down Steve’s abs, Steve smiling sappily up at him.  When he finished, Tony chucked the wipes off the side of the bed and Steve dragged him down for a soft but still heated kiss.

 

Suddenly, Tony remembered his analogy, and couldn’t help giggling, braking their connected lips.  “I gotta text Bruce,” he fumbled for his phone.

 

“ _Now?_ ” Steve hissed into his shoulder.

 

“I’ve been trying to come up with the best chemical compound to describe us, and I figured it out,” he pulled the texting feature up on a tablet.  Steve sighed.  “Have you been taking lessons from Pepper?”

 

“No, Tony.  Dare I ask?”

 

“You and I are phosphorus sesquisulfide and potassium chlorate.”

 

“I have no idea what those molecules do.”

 

“The red end of a head of a match.”

 

“Seriously?” Steve looked up at him, wrinkling his forehead.  “Those make my job ten times harder.”

 

“Don’t _I_ make you ten times harder?”

 

“Sure, Tony,” Steve mumbled into his hip.  “Now.  Sleep.”

 

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

 

“I should never have introduced you to my friends.”

 

“Why?  Cause we get along like a _house on fire?_ ” Tony grinned, snuggling down into Steve’s arms.

 

Steve groaned.  Not in the sexy way.  “Just,” he pulled the sheet over Tony’s giggling form, “go the fuck to sleep.”

 

“That’s that book your fire chief reads to you before he tucks you in, right?”

 

“I’ll go sleep on the couch.”

 

“Nnnoooo,” Tony clung to Steve’s chest.

 

“Good.  Sleep now,” Steve wrapped his arms around him, breath on Tony’s hair.

 

“JARVIS, lights,” Tony mumbled from the center of Steve’s chest, heartbeat pounding in his ear.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh god, first bottom Steve. How'd I do?


End file.
